Coffee Stunts Your Growth
by Dead Composer
Summary: D.W. learns to listen to her mother. Oneshot.


As the hot liquid coursed down Jane Read's throat, her brain became unfogged. She remembered that she had three beautiful children and a loving husband, that her life was full of promise. Placing the mug down on the table, she wondered if it was possible to experience this morning epiphany without requiring coffee.  
  
A wee, welcome voice reached her aardvark ears. "G'morning, Mom." It was her four-year-old daughter Dora Winifred, yawning and stretching in her pink pajamas.  
  
"Good morning, D.W.," said Mrs. Read, taking another sip of coffee.  
  
"Hey, Mom," D.W. asked with an irresistibly curious face, "can I have some coffee too?"  
  
It was the first time she had ever asked. Mrs. Read quickly recalled the standard mother's procedure when faced with such a request.  
  
"It'll stunt your growth," she replied, shaking her head weakly.  
  
D.W. wasn't certain of the meaning of those words, but she knew a "no" when she heard one. Wandering into the living room, she began to assist Pal, who had become entangled in a ball of blue yarn.  
  
Her spirits revived, Mrs. Read rose from the kitchen table and made her way to the laundry room in the basement. Intrigued by the half-full mug, D.W. left the wriggling puppy and stepped cautiously closer. By standing on her tiptoes and stretching her arm as far as it would go, she managed to grasp the handle and pull the ceramic cup toward her.  
  
A few moments later she had both hands around the hot mug. She recalled a TV show she had seen about stunt men, who leaped from soaring heights and endangered themselves in turbulent waters. The men on the show had been tall and muscular. Was her mother concerned that coffee would make her grow too much, too soon?  
  
Only one way to find out. D.W. tipped the mug to her eager mouth, and the hot beverage passed through her lips. One swallow, two, three, and she decided it was enough--she didn't particularly like the taste. As she reached up and replaced the mug on the coaster, she felt a strange tingling throughout her body.  
  
The tingling grew, soon becoming a trembling. "Wh-what..." she stammered as the kitchen started to swirl around before her eyes. Had she been poisoned? Had her mother tricked her with spinach juice?  
  
Disoriented, D.W. waved her arms, cried out, and struggled to stay on her feet. She noticed that her voice was becoming higher and squeakier. After a few seconds the dizziness passed, and the surrounding world stabilized itself.  
  
But it wasn't the same world she had known. The kitchen table and chairs had grown to five times their old height. The cupboards had become vaults, and the coat rack resembled a mighty tree. Pal bounded into the room, but he was now a fearsome beast, taller and much broader than D.W. He let loose with his tongue, moistening the girl's entire torso and nearly bowling her over.  
  
"Mom! Help!" cried the terrified D.W., but her voice sounded as if it should have come from a mouse. Then her four-year-old mind realized the truth. The kitchen and the puppy had not grown. She had shrunk...  
  
"I'm coming, D.W.," Mrs. Read called out earnestly. As Pal gave D.W. another full-body lick, the girl's mother trudged into the kitchen like a terrible giantess. "Oh, my goodness!" she boomed in a near-deafening voice. "D.W., why didn't you listen to me?"  
  
"Mom, get him off me!" D.W. squealed, vainly trying to ward off the large and affectionate pooch with her flailing little arms.  
  
Shortly Mrs. Read's gigantic hands reached down to D.W.'s level. One hand pushed Pal aside, while the other's fingers wrapped around the frantic girl. She was about the size of her mother's palm now, about four inches in height. "Now you'll find out what happens to little kids who drink coffee," Mrs. Read chided her daughter while whisking her into the air. The upward acceleration was so rapid that D.W. feared she would lose bladder control, or even lose her bladder entirely.  
  
She was carried into the living room by her mother, who grumbled bitterly the whole distance. With her free hand, Mrs. Read swiveled the television set until the back of the unit faced her. Opening a small panel, she stuck the hand carrying D.W. inside, and released her grip on the girl. Suddenly sprawled on a warm surface, D.W. glanced about timidly as the black panel slid closed behind her, trapping her...where?  
  
All around her stood motors, gears, rubber belts, and oddly shaped glass tubes. A few yards (or inches?) away, an old dog man with a bushy white beard was turning a crank over and over at a clockwork pace.  
  
D.W. bashfully approached the man. "Excuse me, sir," she said in her new helium voice, "but can you tell me what this place is?"  
  
The old man turned around and wiped the sweat from his heavily wrinkled brow. "Oh, thank heavens," he mumbled, sounding somewhat like an exhausted elf. "My replacement has arrived."  
  
At first confused, D.W. came to a sudden realization. "You...you're one of the little people in the TV," she exclaimed proudly.  
  
The old man nodded sadly. "It's a hard life," he said, placing his calloused hands on D.W.'s shoulders and moving her toward the crank. "If only I'd listened to my mother instead of taking that sip of coffee. I could have been a pro basketball player."  
  
D.W. grasped the crank handle and began to turn it like she had seen the old man do. "How long will I be here?" she asked as the man shuffled away.  
  
"Until you're replaced by another little boy or girl," said the old dog man.  
  
The black panel began to open, and the man crouched to pass through it. "Where are you going?" D.W. called after him.  
  
"To Little America," the old man replied. "I've spent my whole life in this hot TV set, and now I want to retire to someplace cold."  
  
The man disappeared, and the panel snapped closed. D.W. felt fatigue seeping into her rotating arms, and wanted to sit down and rest; but the crank seemed to have taken possession of her muscles, and she couldn't will herself to stop turning it. And it was getting hotter...  
  
...and hotter...  
  
In an instant D.W. was standing in the kitchen again, and she discovered that the heat she felt was merely the steam rising from the coffee mug in her hands. Looking around, she was relieved to find that the table, the chairs, and the cupboards had resumed the sizes to which she was accustomed.  
  
She mused on the bizarre fantasy she had just experienced. Was it a dream? A warning? Would coffee really have such a drastic effect on a little girl her age?  
  
Only one way to find out. She took another sip.  
  
Suddenly she was eight feet tall... 


End file.
